Chapter 14 Sierra
SIERRA
I was joking when I asked Matteo if he was worried about leaving me alone in his house.
But the joke’s on me, I guess, because he barely said three words before he was gone again, and suddenly I’m standing in his living room like I belong here. Like this is normal. Like any of this is normal.
The house is nice. A three-bedroom ranch on the outskirts of Vegas, with a detached garage and a pool in the fenced backyard. There’s a home gym, which doesn’t surprise me at all. You don’t get arms like that by accident.
I wander into the backyard and sink into a patio chair, tilting my face toward the sun. The air out here tastes different than it does downtown. Cleaner. Less like exhaust and sweat and too many people. I pull up a book on my phone, but I’m not really reading. I’m just... breathing.
For the first time in weeks, I’m not looking over my shoulder.
Viktor probably doesn't know where I am. Maybe he could find out if he tried hard enough. But for right now, sitting in the sun in a backyard he's never seen, I let myself believe I'm safe.
An hour passes. Maybe two. I lose track.
Eventually, I go inside and turn on a rom-com, sinking into Matteo’s dark leather couch with a sigh. The place is clean but sparse. No photos on the walls or personal touches anywhere. Just functional furniture and empty space.
Bachelor pad. Obviously.
The movie is predictable in the best way. Girl meets boy. Boy is difficult. Girl falls anyway. I’m half-watching, half-daydreaming, when gravel crunches in the driveway.
I tense for a moment on instinct before remembering it’s just Matteo. It’s going to take a while to unlearn the habit of bracing for danger every time I hear a sound.
I stand up and stretch, arms reaching overhead, working out the stiffness from sitting too long. The door opens, and I feel his gaze land on me like a physical weight. My shirt has ridden up, exposing a strip of skin at my waist.
Heat crawls up my neck.
His eyes track the movement when I tug it back down.
“Uh... hi.” Brilliant, Sierra. Really stellar conversational skills.
He crosses the room toward me, scanning the space like he’s checking for damage. Like maybe he expected to come home and find his place trashed. The thought sends a flutter of warmth through me. He wasn’t entirely comfortable leaving me here, but he did it anyway.
Because keeping me safe mattered more than his comfort.
God. Am I catching feelings for him? I’m not. I’m not. It’s just gratitude. That’s all.
The silence stretches.
“So,” I say, because I can’t stand it anymore. “This is a little awkward.”
Apparently I have no control over my mouth when I’m nervous. Great. Nothing makes a situation less awkward than pointing out how awkward it is.
Matteo says nothing. Just watches me with those intense blue eyes.
The silence stretches. My skin prickles.
“I really appreciate you letting me hang out here today,” I continue, unable to stop myself.
“You have no idea how stressed I’ve been about Viktor showing up at my apartment.
Or the coffee shop. Did you know I had to switch coffee shops after we ran into each other?
Which sucks, because their iced lattes were perfect, but also because it feels like I’m letting him run me out of my own life.
First my coffee shop, then what? I just needed a day to hide, even if it makes me feel weak, and I know that sounds pathetic, but it is what it is. So. Thanks…”
I trail off, breathless.
One corner of his mouth ticks up. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close. “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?”
I blink at the non-sequitur. “What?”
“I asked if you’ve ever ridden a motorcycle. Specifically, on the back of one.”
“No.” The word comes out breathless. Anticipation sparks in my chest.
“Do you want to go for a ride with me?”
I chew my bottom lip. “Is it safe?”
“Mostly.” He shrugs those massive shoulders. “It’s a vehicle, Sunshine. Accidents happen. But I’m a damn good rider. I’ll keep you safe.”
The confidence in his voice does something to me. Something warm and liquid pools low in my belly.
Haven’t I already been trusting him with my safety? What’s one more leap?
“Okay.” I exhale slowly. “Let’s go for a ride.”
I follow him into the garage, and my eyes go wide.
Three motorcycles. Two are in various states of repair. One is missing a front wheel. Another has its fuel tank sitting on newspaper, freshly painted a deep, gleaming blue. But the third one...
The third one is a beast. Black with flames licking across the gas tank. A trunk box behind the passenger seat. Saddlebags on each side. The word Harley gleams on the tank.
It’s massive.
And kind of sexy.
“Wow,” I murmur.
“She’s a beaut, right?” Pride colors his voice in a way I haven’t heard before.
“She?”
“It’s always a she. Bikes, boats, cars. Doesn’t matter. It’s a she.”
“Have you named her?”
He scoffs. “Of course not.”
I bite back a smile. “Silly me.”
Matteo grabs a box from the bed of his truck and sets it on the concrete. When he opens it, I see a flash of bright pink.
He pulls out a helmet.
“I had to guess on the size,” he says. “Figured you’d be a medium.”
“You bought this for me?” My throat feels tight.
“I don’t want you to ever ride without one.”
He moves closer, and my pulse kicks up as he settles the helmet on my head. His fingers brush against my jaw as he secures the strap under my chin. There’s nothing sexual about the touch, but my body doesn’t care. Heat blooms across my skin anyway.
“Good fit,” he murmurs, stepping back.
I fidget with the strap. “Where’s yours?”
“Don’t use one.”
I frown. “That’s not fair.”
“Not about fair.” He throws a leg over the motorcycle, and sweet Jesus, the sight of him straddling that machine scrambles my brain.
His jeans pull tight across his thighs. His arms bunch as he grips the handlebars.
“I’m protecting you. That’s my job now. And I’m not just keeping Viktor away. I’m keeping your brain intact.”
“And yours doesn’t need protecting?”
“Skull’s too thick.” He taps the side of his head. “Get on.”
Nerves flutter in my stomach, but I approach the bike anyway. I put one hand on his shoulder for balance, feel the heat of him through his shirt, and swing my leg over the trunk box.
Oh.
Oh, this is...
My thighs bracket his hips. My chest presses against his broad back. My arms snake around his waist, and I can feel his abs through the thin cotton of his shirt. Rock solid. Warm.
Every point of contact between our bodies lights up like a live wire.
The engine roars to life. The vibration travels through the seat, through my body, settling somewhere dangerous. I tighten my grip on him.
“Hold on,” he shouts over the noise.
As if I’d ever let go.
We pull out of his neighborhood slowly, but once we hit the open road, he twists the throttle. The bike surges forward. My stomach drops, then soars. Wind whips around my face, blocked by the visor but catching the ends of my hair. The desert blurs past us in streaks of gold and brown.
I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
This is freedom. Pure, uncomplicated freedom. No Viktor. No fear. No looking over my shoulder. Just the rumble of the engine beneath me and Matteo’s solid body in front of me and the endless road ahead.
When he leans into a turn, I follow, moving with him like we’re connected. The bike tilts, and my stomach flips, but I’m not scared.
I press my helmet against his back and just... feel.
We ride until the sun dips low on the horizon, painting everything gold and pink. By the time we turn back toward his house, my body is stiff from holding on, my thighs aching from the vibrations.
But I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.
Matteo parks in the garage and cuts the engine. The sudden silence is jarring. He helps me off the bike, his hands steadying me when my legs wobble.
“You good?” he asks, pulling the helmet off my head.
“That was amazing.” I can’t stop grinning. “I had no idea it would be that fun.”
His mouth curves barely. But it’s there.
He flips an empty bucket upside down and gestures for me to sit. I do, rolling my neck to work out the kinks, and he moves to one of the other bikes.
“I’m gonna work on this for a bit,” he grabs a wrench. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Want to order us a pizza?”
“Sounds good. Sausage and pepperoni?”
He nods without looking up.
Perfect.
He tries to hand me his credit card. I ignore him as I pull out my phone. He bought me an expensive ring. He’s spending all his time keeping me safe. The least I can do is buy a pizza.
Silence settles over the garage, but it’s comfortable. Easy. I watch his hands as he works. Big hands, sure and steady, moving with practiced precision.
He reattaches the front wheel and checks a metal disc I’m pretty sure is the brake. His focus is absolute. Intense. My cheeks heat as I wonder what it would be like to be the object of that focus.
“This one’s almost done.” He eventually leans back and wipes his hands on a rag.
“What kind is it?”
“’73 BMW R32.” His voice warms. “They’re collector bikes. This one wasn’t well-maintained, but I’ve put a lot of hours into bringing her back.”
I grin at his evident pride and lean forward. “Maybe I should get one.”
For the first time since I met him, Matteo’s face lights up. Not a smirk or a half-smile. An actual, full-blown grin that transforms him from dangerously hot to devastatingly gorgeous.
“There are a lot of options for someone like you.” His voice is animated. “Your legs are short, but some bikes have lowering kits. Indian Scout sits low. Honda Rebel’s solid too.”
“But you ride a Harley.” I can’t help but match his enthusiasm.
“I’m a Harley guy. If you want to stick with the brand, we could look at an Iron 883. Low seat. Handles easy. Good beginner bike.”
“We?”
The grin dims. He rubs the back of his neck, gaze dropping to the floor. “I mean, if you want to pick one out yourself...”